A/N: It has been a long time, and I've returned from Neverland. I hope the continuation of this work finds some new fans, as it has always brought me much joy. I made the decision to leave all the previous chapters as they were, and simply continue where I left off. As always, let me know your thoughts.

-Fara

The crew could sense when the time was nearing, of this Hook was certain. Though a lively port rose in the distance, not even the promise of rum and warm thighs was enough to dispel the grey mood that had settled over the ship like a fog. It was a sentence all of them cherished and hated, longed for and feared all at once—inevitable and unrelenting. It was time to return.

And what had he done with his months on these waters, Hook thought bitterly. Moons had risen and sank beneath the waves, and still he was no nearer to finding what he sought. The years lost—a trail of hints left in the correspondence of those long dead, rumors of whispers, the decrepit memories of old men. For the sake of the gods, he'd pried bones from the very grip of the earth and rifled for their secrets with still nothing in return. Yet the memory of it was so clear in his mind, as if it were still sitting in front of him—the smallest treasure he had ever laid eyes on. How the light had danced in it, a rainbow of colors in the palm of Milah's hand—a magic bean, perhaps one of the last in all of the Enchanted Forest. It was meant to be their escape.

Now it was lost to time, lost to him.

The one thing he needed to claim his revenge had eluded him for hundreds of years. Perhaps it was hopeless. Perhaps it had been used long ago and—like the rest of his existence—he was chasing only the memory of something long gone.

Hook banished the black thoughts from his head. They always rose, these doubts, when it was time to go back, when the nights stretched into eternity and he questioned—has it been worth it? Instead he cast his gaze over the crew as they worked, his hands minding the helm as the Jolly Roger eased into the deep port. It was a good assortment, this crew, and he didn't relish the thought of having to put the time into recruiting others, but with three hands gone to the deep, he would need to turn his thoughts to that soon enough.

"Ahoy, men!" he called, his voice ringing out over the near-silent deck, each head swiveling to attention. "Slake your thirst and drink your fill, but be quick about it. Time stops for no man—"

A quickly stifled laugh amongst the crew and the shuffling of feet interrupted the Captain, but he allowed the slightest glint of a smirk before continuing.

"—and we leave by sunset. Cowry, Captain's Quarters."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Hook turned his thoughts toward the items he would need Cowry to procure before they left. He had no intentions of disembarking on this occasion, his mind already engulfed by what his failures these past months meant for the future.

The ale was bitter, the tankard already too warm beneath her hands. The waters in the bay seemed restless, as did the crew. Emma couldn't help but notice the way Maddock hovered at the dock, his gaze always on the horizon, or how old Skirts seemed quiet, even the ribaldry of the brothel not putting the red into his cheeks as it normally did. Something was amiss, yet no one spoke a word.

She'd barely seen Hook since their encounter that night. The Captain kept to his quarters, appearing suddenly like a ghost, only to bark orders and disappear back into the gloom. Every now and then she could feel the pull between them rising like a tide from the deep, could sense his eyes boring into her as she worked, but would turn to find nothing. The men seemed to give her a wide berth, aware of the shift in her rapport with the Captain, but unsure of what it meant. A few days passed like this, and then the Jolly changed course, heading directly toward what Cowry said would be a large city, the ideal place to shore up their stocks for a long voyage.

The Captain's tempestuous behavior had certainly set the crew on edge, but the change of course and Cowry's announcement had not lifted their spirits. Instead the depressive mood settled over the ship like the calm of a dead sea, and the only way she could escape it was to climb as far above it as possible, seeking even the smallest breath of fresh air. Every time the conversation faded as she drew near, with each sideways glance from the men—she became more unsettled. It was clear that there was something else happening beyond her rift with the Captain, some secret they kept from her.

When she was able to retreat to the highest reaches of the ship, she couldn't help but close her eyes and remember what it had felt like that night. From the earliest moments of her life she had been unwanted, abandoned, lost. There had been houses and apartments—gods, a lifetime ago in a world that seemed like a nightmare she should have forgotten—there had even been all those years with Columbine, years that amounted to nothing but betrayal, but there had never been a place that felt like home—not until that night. She wasn't sure where the certainty came from—maybe a lifetime of wrongs made it easy to spot the one thing that was right—but there was something inside of her that simply resonated with him. If that wasn't the feeling that a real home gave you, then what was?

She wasn't frightened by his intensity, by the dark words she knew were a precursor to ruthless, unflinching action should she ask it of him. There was something inside of her that rose to meet them, that was relieved she didn't have to be perfect, to worry about others, or what the world thought—that she didn't need to care for anyone other than herself—that she could simply be and he would accept her as she was. There were no doubts in her mind when she knew she would do the same for him, and when she crashed forward against his chest, a weight flew from her shoulders and shattered into nothingness.

Home.

Yet he had pulled away from her, and she had been left feeling—not anger, or heartache, but confusion. How could he not feel this surge, this connection between them? It crackled and exulted when their skin met. Why did he fight it? Did he not understand that whatever course he had set before she snuck aboard his ship, she would move the earth to see it come to fruition, for him?

"Top ye' off?" a curt voice interrupted, and Emma swiveled her head to see one of the bar maids poised with a jug, her attentions already wandering to someone more interested in her charms.

"No," Emma muttered, tossing a coin down next to her half empty tankard and leaving the tavern.

It was about time she cornered one of the crew and learned what in Hade's name was happening. The quandary she found herself in with the Captain would find its path forward, she was sure, but there was something else amiss aboard the Jolly Roger, and she was tired of waiting for someone to tell her what it was.

Emma made her way down to the dock as the sun settled lower in the sky—most of the crew already returned to their duties, their coin purses lighter and their appetites fulfilled. Cowry and a few others were the last on the dock, hoisting and passing cargo across the gangplank. She leaned amiably around Cowry's large frame as he took stock of the items remaining.

"Blackberries?" Her mouth watered at the sight of the plump fruits, and the surprise was evident in her tone. "Cream?"

"None of that then, Swan. We all know your fingers are as light as the day."

He lifted the crate out of her view and headed aboard. Parting the straw inside a small barrel, she withdrew one of many thick glass jugs and uncorked it, waving the opening beneath her nose.

"Good gods," she called after him, waving the jug in the air. "Is this syllabub, Cowry? What could we possibly need this for?"

"Captain's orders!" came the gruff reply as he dropped the crate on deck.

"Half of this will be rancid tomorrow. Does the Captain mean us to feast today, starve tomorrow?" she teased.

"There's nothing in there you need to worry about, other than keeping your hands out of them. They're not for us."

"Alright," she conceded, hands raised in mock surrender as she retreated from the parcels—Maddock and Cowry taking the last of them aboard. "I can see where my help isn't needed."

"You'll be needed on the capstan if you don't find something useful to do, Swan," Cowry snapped, but his tone was lighter than it had been the past few days. "No matter what the Captain thinks."

Knowing when she'd worn out her pestering, and not relishing the idea of being stuck below deck rather than up in the rigging, she retreated quickly. She'd gotten whatever answers she was likely to from Cowry, and if that was all he would say, the rest of the crew would be no different. Wherever they were headed, it must not be a long voyage as the goods Hook had ordered brought aboard would be wasted. Any further answers, it seemed, would have to wait until the Captain revealed them himself.

It didn't take long for the crew to ease the Jolly Roger on her way, the wind at her stern, urging them back to their place on the open water. A breath she didn't know she'd been holding fell from her lips as the horizon opened its arms before her. The port faded into a muddied, hazy painting in the distance—the red tiled buildings and stone porticos bleeding into the greenery and wet sand. It was at its most beautiful from afar, and Emma was glad to see the back of it. The creak and wail of the ship slicing through the water was as near to a song as she could imagine, the wind catching and fighting the sails, the sea breaking against her sides. It was a hypnotic thing to be lost in, and perhaps why she didn't hear his approach.

"Swan, follow me."

The words were quiet, soft, and swept away by the time she turned to find him. Her hand slipped from its hold and she set after him with a quick stride, the shared glances amongst the crew as the two of them passed not escaping her keen eye. They stepped onto the small bit of privacy the forward deck afforded, her stomach rolling as she considered the many directions this could take.

They looked out over the bowsprit, the space between them narrow, but yawning. Emma's fingers twitched as she stifled the urge to cross it, all too aware of the eyes that were surely focusing on them. The Captain's hand found support in the forestays, his eyes trained on some invisible destination.

"What do you know of magic, Swan?"

His voice was low, laced with something she could not pinpoint. The words took her by surprise, a shiver rippling beneath her skin as old memories surfaced.

"Magic?" she echoed, searching the horizon for what prompted his question. She could never forget the surge of energy passing through her, the swirling light and sucking vortex that devoured the ground at her feet. She knew something of magic, of its pull. "I don't know of any sorcerers, but the Enchanted Forest was called that for a reason, so it was not unknown to me, Captain."

"Magic can make the impossible possible. It can level kingdoms and barter with death, but in this world, Swan, we are slaves to one thing—time."

His blue eyes turned toward her, searching, his features tensed. The lingering sunlight glinted off the rings he wore as his grip on the rope tightened.

"What if I told you that we sail for a land where time does not exist? We will pass from it, unnoticed, and when we return, this place will have carried on without us."

Visions of grey city streets lined with lights and storefronts flashed through her mind—other worlds. She knew it was possible. She swallowed a hard lump, reminding herself that time certainly existed where she came from, so that wasn't the land of which he spoke.

"There's nothing for me back at that port, Captain—or any other port we've stopped at, or even back in the Enchanted Forest." She laughed quietly. "I couldn't care less what it does while I'm gone. Everything I need is right here."

The last words were quiet, barely more than a whisper, but she held his blue eyes with her own, challenging him to look away. Couldn't he see the truth in that?

"Not that you gave me a choice, did you, Captain?" she continued, the corner of her mouth a wry smile. "We're already on our way, aren't we? No chance for me to say I've changed my mind—to stay?"

"Emma," he whispered, moving to scratch behind his ear before dropping his hand to the railing, the guilt written across his features. "For that, I'm sorry. I couldn't bring myself to risk...I am, in my heart, a pirate, after all."

"I understand." She shifted, reaching toward the railing, her hand laying across the cold wood, fingers hovering just above his. She could feel the air between them practically sparking. "Do you feel that?"

"Aye, Swan," he breathed out, his eyes holding hers. "How could I not?"

"Then I only have one question—where are we headed, Captain?"

"Neverland, Swan—" and then again, a bit louder for the men below— "We sail to Neverland!"

"Oi!" Cowry shouted from below. "You heard the Captain, men. Prepare for rough seas!"

It was as if a storm had finally broken, the tension and nervousness among the crew replaced with a flurry of activity and noise. Emma caught a few rueful smiles among the lot as she watched them, unable to hold their silence against them in light of Hook's revelation. It had not been their secret to share.

She turned to join them, but was stopped by the firm grasp of Hook's hand on her arm.

"You won't be needed in the lookout for this next part, Swan—one doesn't sail to Neverland in the traditional sense."

"Well, how then?"

"With magic, of course."

Hook turned back toward the sea, the waters darkening ahead. He raised his hand toward the last vestiges of fading daylight, rings aglow like embers at night, and cast his hand toward the water, as if throwing something invisible. And though nothing loosed from his hand, Emma could feel something black and impenetrable rise from him and take flight, plunging into the ocean like a bat that hailed from the deepest crevices of hell. It was magic, of that she had no misgivings—she could feel it in her bones—but it felt distinct from Hook. Whatever magic he wielded to reach Neverland, it was not a part of him.

Ahead of the ship, the sea frothed and foamed, fish and creatures driven up from the depths, fleeing ahead of some unrestrained thing that burst upward—an explosion of air and blackness split the waters open into a hissing vortex.

A portal.

The ocean swirled violently around the emptiness of it, the ship drawn closer and closer in the strong currents. Emma lurched toward Hook and wrapped her arm around the forestays, her eyes wide as she took in the yawning abyss they sailed toward.

"Hold on, Swan!" he yelled, his own hand holding tight to the rigging.

The faster the bow of the Jolly Roger slipped toward the portal, the more the horror of it was revealed. Shapes swam within its twisting walls, some of them vaguely humanoid—mermaids, their eyes glowing and round, thick tails propelling them through the violent waters with ease. The broadside of the ship was pulling even with the edge of the abyss in the sea, the entire world shifting. Massive, looming shadows could be seen circling deeper still, their unnamable, grotesque forms cast in the revealing light of the glowing portal far below.

She stepped back instinctively, knowing theses uncharted depths were a place not meant for humans—not that common sense would keep the ship from plummeting over the edge. Panic rose in the back of her throat, clawing upward, but before she could take another step or lose her hold on the rigging, a strong hand wrapped around her waist, anchoring her.

"I've got you, Swan."

She wrapped her hands around Hook, around the rigging, grasping for anything she could hold onto as the Jolly Roger lurched forward, taking heart that the Captain's hook was plunged deeply into the wood of the ship—and then the sky fell, or at least that was the sensation as they tipped over the edge of the sea, tumbling into the swirling madness below.